Last night, lying awake in bed, I heard a familiar sound and found myself slipping out from the warmth of my bed and standing at the window. The world was covered in a layer of wet. The rain was falling, drops of water were racing down my window pane. I left the curtains open and slipped back into bed and just listened. It's a hauntingly beautiful sound.
It's mid-January and Montreal is covered in puddles. The outdoor rinks are ruined, and the piles of snow are shrinking, and winter is losing its picturesque beauty, but I'm still smiling. I stand outside and look up and let the rain wash over me, rinsing me clean.
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